In the Kitchen with a Knife
by Semjaza
Summary: Team Voltron misses Keith, and Hunk is determined to show him that. Somehow. Meanwhile, the war is on and people need killing. Keith is taking care of that part. Hunk is definitely not helping. Heith, Assassin!Keith, Blade of Marmora, domestic interludes during an intergalactic war, eventual Hunk/Keith pairing, slow burn. New updates on AO3.
1. Chapter 1

In the Kitchen with a Knife

Author's notes: So this is a bit all over the place, and fairly uneven in tone where the romcom dialogue meets the realities of fighting an intergalactic war. Timeline is stretchy but mostly very early season four (with themes from seasons two and three). This chapter rated M for swearing, implied violence, and blood. All characters depicted are 18+.

* * *

One

Hunk dreamt of blood-soaked metal and plummeting to his death so often that he didn't really consider them nightmare material anymore. As his waking reality wasn't much different, it didn't seem to matter that the second he managed to fall asleep, everything he'd seen and done that day replayed in his mind. His dreams twisted and warped into situations that, while not unfamiliar, seemed a hundred times more hopeless.

Nothing helped. He'd long since used up the last of a soporific tea gifted to him by an herbalist from a newly liberated planet, and knocking himself out with pills was out of the question. Hunk faced two choices at the end of each day when the smoke cleared and he was finally allowed to head to his berth: go to sleep and wind up in a coppery-tasting nightmare from which his exhausted body would not let him wake, or lie in bed and think about everything that could possibly go wrong, ever.

Tonight, he'd chosen option two, fretting over the fragile state of the team. They were functioning, even winning battles, but not well or easily. Shiro was back, though not what he'd been before the Galra had sunk their claws into him again. Sure, he was flying with them, but shouting orders on the battlefield wasn't the same as the guidance he'd once offered. Back at the castle, he stood on the bridge and glared at the screens. He wasn't unapproachable, just preoccupied. Hunk couldn't blame him for his distance. He figured Shiro would eventually get out of his own head and come back to them. _Yeah, he's probably worried that we're all gonna die horribly. At least that's a legitimate fear with a high probability of occurrence._

Hunk rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force his mind to stop. He wondered if Lance was still awake, but quickly discarded the idea of a visit. Lance would, of course, stay up and keep Hunk company. He wouldn't even have to ask; he could just show up at Lance's door and Lance would rally around and drink coffee and rummage through his collection of video games for the least nostalgic ones. Or if Hunk wanted to sleep Lance would stay up beside him and shake him awake when the nightmares started. The entire night. Without complaint. But that didn't mean it was fair to let him. It wasn't Lance's job to hold them all together, but he'd never shied away from the task. Hunk had watched Lance fight off his own heart-crushing anxiety to keep them functioning as a team, time and again. _But he shouldn't have to – that's the point…_

Pidge might still be awake – Hunk knew she didn't sleep much. She'd work for days at a time, following some twisty mathematical puzzle down a circuitous route until she got to the bottom of it, and then crash at her workstation until someone (Hunk) carried her to her bunk and tucked her in. Hunk got that; it was a lot like he'd been, back in the Garrison's engineering classes. He understood the appeal of taking a problem, or an electromagnetic propulsion engine system, and stripping it down until it made sense. Except that Pidge's main problem these days, besides fighting an intergalactic war, was her missing brother and father. While Pidge was happy to collaborate on projects involving the weapons systems or communications frequencies, she couldn't handle distractions when working on anything related to her family. And really, Hell hath no fury like Pidge interrupted at a crucial moment in her calculations. It wasn't worth the risk.

 _Honestly, if Pidge had met Keith in the Garrison, they would have stolen a spaceship and gone after the Kerberos mission on their own. Those two are more than obsessive… Although once Keith got Shiro back he just felt free to leave all of us…_ Hunk flipped his pillow over and stared at the ceiling. _At least Pidge has a justifiable reason for her priorities. Keith just…_

Keith doesn't have an excuse, Hunk decided. _He chose a bunch of alien ninjas over his friends, and the lions. Who does that? At least in a giant space lion you've got some protection and_ _STOP THINKING._

Hunk heaved a sigh and rolled over, further entwining himself in his blankets. The castle was as quiet as it ever was, the faint hum of the crystal drive permeating the walls. Of course, there wasn't much noise in the castle, even when everyone was awake. The Altean ship was huge, and they were so small, and few in number, their presence barely noticeable. And that was before you considered the vastness of space, the expanse of darkness and emptiness that stretched on forever and _STOP IT NOW_.

"That's it, I'm up, I'm awake, I give up," Hunk climbed out of his bunk and stretched. He threw a t-shirt and sweats on over his boxers and ambled out of his quarters, tying his hair back as he went. The kitchen was a fair distance from his room, because apparently Alteans loved walking everywhere, but Hunk had memorized the route on his first day and could probably get there in his sleep. If he ever did get to sleep, ever again. _STOP._

The lights in the kitchen glowed dimly when Hunk entered, but they shouldn't have been on at all. While the rebel groups they worked with functioned around the clock, unbound by any planet's cycles, he and the other humans had struggled to adapt. Hunk thought of Main Shift and Off Shift as day and night, and hated the ship's harsh lighting as much as he missed sunshine. He waved the lights up to fifty percent, wondering if he should've brought his bayard. _Of course, the kitchen is full of knives… and whoever's in here probably already has them all…_

"Who's there?" He called softly, taking two quick steps to the side, heading for the knife drawer.

"Just me," came the rasped reply. "Those lights are a little bright, you want to turn them down again?"

"Keith?" Hunk asked, incredulous. He stepped further into the room, adjusting the lights and hoping that it really was Keith he was talking to. "What are you doing here?"

"You know, I drop by the castle when I'm nearby. I exchange info, and-"

"Sneak into the kitchen late at night like a space ninja?" Hunk interrupted. "Where are you, anyway? Do the Blades have cloaking on their uniforms now?"

"I'm over here," Keith waved, and this time Hunk saw him. Sitting hunched on the floor, hidden by the countertops and tables, water flask in hand. He leaned back against the wall, and when he tilted his head up at Hunk the movement didn't seem entirely natural.

"Are you okay?" Hunk headed over, unhooking a chair and pulling it up. "What are you doing down there?"

"Oh, I… was just waiting for the antidotes to kick in. It's been a bit of a long day."

"No shit," Hunk muttered. He glanced over Keith as best he could in the dim light. The Blade was in his uniform, a shadow amongst shadows, blending into the darkness around him. His skin was pale, eyes dark and glimmering. Hunk wanted to touch Keith's forehead to test for a fever, but he also wanted to not lose his hand, so he fought down the impulse and listened quietly. Keith's breathing was ragged and shallow, but he _was_ breathing, so Hunk filed the situation as Not an Emergency Yet. Keith took another sip of water, the flask barely shaking in his hand, and didn't say anything else.

"So, uh, mission not go as planned?"

"No, it went as planned." Keith set down the flask and stretched out his legs, and Hunk saw him suppress a wince.

"You sure you don't want to go to a healing pod? I'll help you get there." Hunk kept his tone level. Keith had a bad habit of not letting anyone protect him, and while Hunk didn't understand it, he knew not to push.

"It's fine, Hunk. I was just here to drop off some intel and figured I'd grab a water-pack before I headed out. No need to spend the castle's resources. The antidotes are working."

" _Fine_ is not what I'd call this, but whatever. Did you sit on the floor for fun, or is that just where you fell?"

Keith's silence answered that question.

"Who poisoned you?" Hunk couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. He heard it, and tamped it down.

"No one. It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like a lie at all." Hunk heaved himself to his feet and glared down at Keith. The Blade didn't look at him, and after a moment Hunk decided he wasn't about to waste a perfectly good glower on someone who wouldn't even deign to look. "So, are you just going to stay on the floor for a while? Is this your life now? Too good for a chair?"

Keith snorted a laugh and then flinched. Hunk offered a hand and pretended not to notice how warily it was accepted. He helped Keith up as gently as he could and settled him into the nearest chair. Keith immediately braced himself against the table, and Hunk pretended not to see that either. Keith had always reminded him of an animal that might break its own bones or chew its own flesh to get out of a trap, and Hunk, ever mindful of his bulk, did his best to make sure he didn't feel cornered. _Well, that's some disturbing imagery right there, pal…_

"Better keep talking so I know you're alive. What are you up for? Midnight snack? Breakfast? Some sort of medicinal charcoal? I betcha I could make that into a smoothie." Hunk could feel himself starting to babble, and forced himself to stop and take a breath.

"Sounds disgusting," Keith noted, and Hunk decided that that was better than nothing. Mindful of Keith's earlier request, he limited the light to a small lamp directly over the countertop. Hunk rummaged around and started pulling his collection of pans from the cupboards, having scavenged them from the various planets they'd rescued from the Galra. All his utensils, knives included, had been gifted, borrowed, or salvaged. While the previous inhabitants of the Altean ship might have been satisfied by food goo, Hunk held himself to higher standards.

"Breakfast tacos then? I've been craving Tex-Mex. We visited a planet in the Delta Quadrant two weeks ago that made the closest thing to an enchilada that I've had in months. And last week we went to another ocean planet, only this one didn't have mermaids, but it did have these hot sea-peppers that I traded for and now I'm growing in the greenhouses on deck 38 but most importantly, we can now make _pico de gallo_ and that's gotta be a victory for the free world if anything is-"

"Hunk," Keith started, "are you okay?"

"I'm not the one who's been poisoned here, Keith. I get to ask the questions. Now, would you rather have fajitas or some sort of chicken-fried steak monstrosity? I know all of Texas is obsessed with barbeque but that's just not happening in space and-"

"I'll have whatever you're having," Keith said quietly. "But I can't stay long. Why are you wandering around at this hour?"

Hunk paused and turned towards Keith, his arms full of alien vegetables. "Couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd get up and make some food for the team. That usually calms me down enough so I can get an hour or two before I have to be on the bridge. Added bonus: home-cooked meals for everyone. You're missing out, not being here." Hunk neatly snapped the leaves off a bulbous yellow fruit and began to meticulously chop it into cubes.

"Are things… going okay then?" Keith toyed with the water flask. "I read all the reports. I mean, the ones I can get my hands on. The Blades don't like any one person to know too much." Keith paused, trailing off thoughtfully. "Anyway, Voltron's freeing planets from Galra rule at an unprecedented rate. But…"

"But, why am I freaking out all the time if things are going so well? It's 'cause they're not. Going well, I mean. The team is stressed to the max. And each victory takes us one step closer to Zarkon, but closer to Zarkon is not where anyone in their right mind wants to be. I guess, I mean, we all might be dead soon but at least we'll be together. But we're not all together because you left our team and Pidge keeps wandering off on her own missions and I'm just worried. About everyone. All the time. If you get what I'm saying." Hunk waved the knife in his hand for emphasis but stopped when he noticed that Keith's gaze followed attentively. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning back to his task.

"I'm not sure if you're inviting me to come back to Voltron so we can all die together, or telling me that I'm going to die alone, without any home-cooked meals."

"That is… Neither of those things is what I was trying to say." Hunk caught Keith's gaze before the other looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Are you trolling me? Geez, Galra-Keith's sense of humor is still pretty morbid." Hunk tossed a slice of alien fruit at Keith's face and pretended not to be impressed when it was blocked instantly.

"Don't call me that," Keith muttered, but he was fighting a smile. "You know, I always thought, of the two of you, that Lance was the more anxious one."

"Are you calling me neurotic?" Hunk protested, feeling called out. "Also, you haven't seen Lance lately, so maybe hold off on that evaluation."

Hunk scooped his collection of chopped alien plants into a casserole dish and started picking out spices. Nothing was an exact equivalent to flavours found on Earth, but he tried to choose ones that would taste familiar to Keith. He couldn't do anything about the weird color of the meal, but they'd all lived off military rations at the Garrison, and Altean food goo, so he didn't think Keith would complain too much. Hunk didn't measure anything out, preferring to rely on his intuition. He could feel Keith staring at him while he worked, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Are you feeling better? You said the antidotes were working, but how will you know that they've worked correctly?"

"Well, I'm not dead," Keith drawled.

"That's comforting." Hunk rolled his eyes. He raised the lights to full brightness to read an ingredient label, and grinned when Keith hissed.

"What, is your ninja vision faulty in bright lights, or- what the fuck?! Keith, that's fucking blood." Hunk yelped, staring in horror at the blood where Keith had been sitting on the floor, the blood pooled under his chair, the blood smeared across the table where Keith rested. It blended into the dark paneling of the kitchen floor and was nearly invisible against Keith's uniform. He hadn't noticed it, but he should have, what was he good for if he wasn't looking out for his team, and now-

"It's fine, Hunk."

"It is most definitely not fine. What the hell, Keith? You should have said something. Were you just planning to bleed out all over my kitchen?" He took a few fast steps towards Keith, noticed that his friend's body language instantly went defensive, and managed to stop himself. _And we're all going to have a chat about_ that _later._

"It's nothing to worry about. Most of it's not even mine."

"Some of it is, though?" Hunk hoped Keith knew the threat in his voice wasn't meant for him. He forced himself to relax, step back, and make sure he wasn't blocking the exit. He showed his empty hands to Keith, palms out.

"A bit," Keith answered. He paused, and Hunk waited, and after a moment Keith proposed an explanation. Of sorts. _That's_ gotta _be the blood loss talking…_ "The poison was an anticoagulant, so that made things slightly more complicated, but really Hunk, it's okay." Keith's tone was a plea to leave it alone, but Hunk just couldn't.

He clenched his fists and counted to ten. Twice. Then he turned and placed the pan of food in the oven and set the timer. "Breakfast will be ready in 45 minutes. And while we're waiting, you're going to sit in a healing pod."

To Hunk's amazement, Keith didn't argue. Much. That was for the best, because even wounded, the Blade was a formidable opponent. If he'd put up any real resistance, Hunk doubted he would've been able to get Keith out of the kitchen without hurting them both. It wasn't a matter of size or strength: Hunk bet he had at least sixty pounds on Keith, and he knew he was stronger. But Keith put down Galra soldiers bigger than Hunk on a daily basis. At the Garrison, Keith had been a fighter pilot and combat specialist. Hunk had been an engineer.

While every cadet had a basic understanding of hand-to-hand fighting, Hunk had spent a lot of that time trying to not accidentally hurt his sparring partners. He'd trained in kajukenbo as a child, because he'd grown up in a neighbourhood where everyone was obsessed with it. He knew a bunch of limalama throws and holds, but he'd never wanted to fight anyone, or use what little he knew to harm another person. His long-suffering combat teachers tried their best, but Hunk had always been more interested in cooking and theoretical physics than martial arts. Unlike Keith, who always sparred against the instructors because none of the other cadets could touch him. There was no way to catch up with the level of training that Keith already had, even if he'd wanted to. Hunk fought to protect his friends, but Keith fought because it pleased him. _And I don't think it's just a Galra thing either…_

They left the kitchen slowly, Hunk at Keith's elbow, ready to grab him if he passed out. Keith grumbled about his breakfast being held hostage, but Hunk felt free to ignore him. Keith obviously didn't care that dying in Hunk's kitchen would have been deeply traumatic for Hunk. He shared these sentiments with Keith.

"I'm not dying," Keith countered, though he didn't seem to be getting enough air. He gestured erratically towards the room they'd just left. "And if I were, I sure as hell wouldn't be dying in a kitchen. Jeez."

"I dunno, Keith, given the amount of blood you left on the floor, and the chair, and the table, I'm really not sure how it is you're still alive."

"I told you, it wasn't all mine," Keith growled.

"Yes, which is mildly disturbing but beside the point. The mystery is how you're alive, not why someone else isn't. That one's pretty obvious."

"Also, none of your business."

"Oh, I agree, very much."

Keith responded with a dirty look, but didn't say anything else. Hunk figured he had to focus on staying upright, and kept close to his side. Five minutes into their hike to the level that stored the healing pods, Keith tripped over his own feet in a decidedly un-Keith-like manner, and yelped when Hunk caught his arm to stop his fall. Hunk decided to hell with it and picked him up, bridal-style.

"This is ridiculous," Keith slurred at him. "Put me down. I can walk."

"Yeah, you're not doing such a great job at that, buddy. Stop squirming. I'd try a fireman's carry but I don't know where you're wounded and I'm pretty sure you're not going to tell me. So, this is what's happening."

Keith snorted. " _Kata guruma_."

"What?"

"It's judo. Starts off like a fireman's carry, but then you throw your opponent on the ground. Or you can follow them down, like a Samoan drop."

"Thank you for elaborating all the ways I could hurt you while carrying you." Hunk knew his eyeroll was probably wasted on Keith, but he hoped his tone conveyed his sarcasm.

"Not all the ways," Keith muttered, "there's loads more."

"Yeah, I think you're delirious. We're almost to the pods."

"Whatever." Keith frowned up at Hunk's face. "Waste of resources. I'll be healed in a day or so."

"Sure, and how many missions will the Blades send you on before you recover?"

Keith shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Hunk stated, "and it bothers me that you think it doesn't." _Whoa there, Hunk, no more talking for you._

He held Keith gingerly, not wanting to jostle his wounds or provoke a violent reaction. Hunk didn't really believe Keith would hurt him, at least not on purpose, but Keith had the reflexes of someone living in a warzone. Add in poison and blood loss and whatever recent act of brutality Keith had participated in, and Hunk had a pretty good chance of getting accidentally stabbed. A little caution never hurt anyone.

Keith was quiet for the rest of the trip, but Hunk could feel him breathing raggedly against his chest. When they finally reached the healing pods, he set Keith down at the nearest horizontal one as gently as he could manage. The soft blue glow of the pod lit up the room. Keith sprawled at his feet, looking as though he hadn't slept in days. _Those antidotes can't be working right…_

"You need any help taking off your armor?" Hunk asked, hoping that his words had sounded more like an endeavour to help a comrade and less like an offer to strip them.

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Well, I can't seem to lift my arms at the moment, so… yeah?"

"You know, if you're dying, you could at least tell me, so I could scream for help, or something. I bet at least Shiro has first aid training." Hunk grumbled, looking Keith over, unsure where to start with the Blade's armor. He finally tugged off Keith's gloves and set them aside. Keith's hands were bruised, half-wrapped in cloth, the knuckles split and bloodied. The nails were bitten down to the quick. There were throwing knives tucked into the wrist guards.

"Blade training's pretty rough, huh?"

"It's more intense than at the Garrison, that's for sure." Keith replied, head lolling. His breathing seemed slightly more strained, and Hunk settled his palms on Keith's chest. The Galra armor was cool under his hands, a strangely smooth material that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

"I don't suppose there's a zipper?"

Keith rolled his eyes, or maybe they'd just gone unfocused. "Shoulders first."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hard to find seams on ninja armor. You'd think a secret society that's existed for hundreds of years would have armor that, I dunno, protects you from getting stabbed. Or poisoned. Or hurt in any way."

"Well, I like it," Keith blurted woozily. _Okay, this might actually be an emergency._ Hunk decided that they were running out of time. He pulled off Keith's boots and unclipped his weapons belt, finding more knives than any one person really needed and an astonishing variety of small but heavy grenades.

"Your life is kind of frightening. Let's hope the ninja alloys don't interfere with the healing pod too much, 'cause you're going in now."

He lifted Keith carefully, realizing in a moment that his friend couldn't stand. He wrapped one arm around Keith's waist, holding him close, and winced when Keith gasped in pain. He tapped the codes into the Altean system, and the pod hummed into life, beginning to fill with oxygen-rich fluid.

Keith studied the pod with misgiving. "I hate these things. Feels like drowning."

"Better than dying, though." Hunk settled Keith into a sitting position, the healing gel rising to his waist and already tinged pink with blood. He kept a hold on the back of Keith's neck, preventing him from sliding under the surface. Keith was looking at him again, his expression more puzzled than wary.

"I hear it's easier if you exhale as you go under," Hunk suggested. He'd never been wounded enough to need one. He hadn't known that Keith had, either. Keith's jaw clenched, but he managed to nod once, and Hunk let go of him. The pod sealed shut with a hiss, liquid filling the tank completely. He watched as Keith took a deep breath of the fluid and went still, the pod's systems instantly working to anesthetize and sedate its inhabitant.

He stayed for longer than was necessary, making sure everything was working correctly, before heading back to the kitchen.

* * *

"So, is breakfast ready yet? I gotta get back."

Hunk jumped at the drawled question, scattering purple and magenta beans everywhere.

"The hell, Keith? What are you doing back here already? Did you reprogram the pod?" Hunk demanded, advancing on the Blade.

"What? No, guess I just heal fast."

"I'd say. Fifty minutes and you look… okay. Not poisoned and leaking blood, anyway."

"Thanks," Keith huffed a laugh. He seated himself at the table and looked at Hunk expectantly. Hunk remembered that attitude from the fighter pilots at the Garrison. Confidence bordering on arrogance, combined with a hefty amount of aggression. He supposed it was only natural that Keith was a bit like them. He had been, after all, at the top of the class. Hunk found it was just as annoying now as it had been then.

"What, you think you can just abandon this team and then walk back in here and demand to be fed?" Hunk's tone was less joking than he'd hoped. "Well, that-"

"Seems to be what's happening," Keith answered smoothly. "And, for one, you offered to make me breakfast as though it was your sworn and solemn duty, and for two, I did _not_ abandon this team."

Hunk knew he'd touched a nerve and mentally debated whether to let it go. "I know," he answered finally. "We miss you, is all." _Why on earth would you say that?! Stop it!_

Keith stared at him in stunned silence for a full five seconds before dropping his gaze and looking away. Hunk noted that all his weapons had been meticulously replaced.

"What, you thought we didn't?" Hunk resisted the urge to just bail out of this conversation and instead started to set the table. _Oh my god, just stop talking!_

Keith rubbed the back of his neck and didn't say anything. Hunk could tell the Blade wanted to run for it, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say that might convince him otherwise. Instead, he handed him a plate of food.

"So, it's kind of a breakfast taco without the taco… or any of the other ingredients. It's more like, the spirit of a breakfast taco, baked with a vegetable medley, seasoned with a bunch of great flavors from the Epsilon Galaxy."

Keith eyed him dubiously.

"Don't look at me like that, I just cooked your damn breakfast."

"I wasn't looking at you like anything," Keith replied. "Were you going to give me a fork, or-?"

Something chimed, and Keith's gaze immediately dropped to his arm. Hunk saw the flicker of a communicator, built into the vambrace.

"I gotta go. I'll bring back your plate. Thanks, Hunk." Keith grabbed his food and ran for the door. He slipped into the hallway and immediately merged with the shadows there, heading for the hangar.

Hunk stared after him for a long moment, eyes bleary. He gripped the countertop he leaned against until his knuckles turned white.

* * *

Author's notes: Thanks for reading! I'm just writing this for fun, but I'd appreciate any comments or feedback (or beta reading offers). Timeline is stretchy: Shiro is back and Keith has left the team to train with the Blade of Marmora. Pidge hasn't found Matt yet. Zarkon is the big bad because I forgot Lotor was in season four. This might change. There isn't much plot (basically I want Hunk and Keith to go on adventures and figure out if they like each other) but I do have an idea of where I'm going with this. I'm trying to keep it lighter in tone (well, for me) and non-graphic, even though my brain is like, write a _Flammen & citronen _and Voltron crossover.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who left reviewed or favourited this. This chapter rated M for swearing and implied violence. All characters depicted are 18+. I tried to move on but Hunk's still not over chapter one and needs a bit more time to yell at Keith about his life choices. I don't think this is quite ready to post but I got sick of looking at it.

* * *

Two

Sleep was just not happening. Hunk dug his fingers into his hair and screamed internally. He'd napped on the bridge earlier that day, for nearly three hours. Pidge had shaken him when he'd started to mutter and fidget, sparing him the embarrassment of shouting himself awake. They hesitated to wake him otherwise, and Hunk wondered how long it would be before Shiro or Allura pulled him aside and demanded an explanation. Pidge and Lance covered for him as best they could, but it was hard to exist on a handful of hours of sleep each cycle. It was beginning to affect his piloting skills, and those hadn't been great to begin with. _I wonder how much sleep Keith gets…_

It'd been a week and a half of Earth time since he'd dragged Keith from kitchen to healing pod, and there'd been no sign of him since then. Hunk had asked Shiro about the intel drops, and Shiro confirmed that Kolivan's Marmora agents and the odd resistance fighter had access to the castle at pre-arranged times. He hadn't seemed concerned about the possible security breach this could cause, and so Hunk decided he wasn't going to worry about it either. Much. After a day of fretting he figured that Shiro knew Keith made most of the drops, and thus they weren't letting random alien-hybrid ninjas inside the castle to potentially murder them all in their sleep. Just Keith, who might be grumpy sometimes.

He hadn't mentioned Keith's condition that night to Shiro. He'd meant to, twice, catching Shiro by himself in the hangar. He'd started off with Keith's name, because even if Shiro was too stressed to deal with the rest of them, he'd always listen if something involved Keith. And then it had just felt like a huge violation of privacy, and he'd blathered something about the Blade instead. If Keith wanted Shiro to know that he was getting brutalized on his Marmora missions, Keith could tell Shiro that. Hunk was going to stay out of it. Either Shiro already knew what Keith was dealing with, and for whatever reason hadn't put a stop to it, or he didn't know because Keith had kept it from him.

 _And that is a fight I do not want to get in the middle of…_ Hunk rubbed his eyes and wandered around his quarters, managing to fumble his way into a hoodie. He didn't know what to think about Keith anymore. He'd valued him, as a friend and a paladin ( _although apparently not enough to make him stay_ ) and had spent much of the time since Keith had left them trying not to dwell on him. He missed Keith, and he was angry at him for leaving, and there wasn't any point in prodding that wound any further. Except that Keith wasn't exactly gone, he was just choosing to stay apart from them. _And that feeling you're feeling is called rejection. Right?_

The hallways of the castle-ship were dim in the off-shift hours, but as Hunk approached the kitchen he saw that the lights had been turned up, bathing the room in a warm glow. He walked in to see a familiar shape sitting on the far table, long legs dangling over the edge. Keith was leaning back on his palms, frowning up at the ceiling where the remnants of a food-goo war smeared over the tiles. His armor enveloped him in clean flowing lines, catching the eye and then assuring it that there was nothing there to see.

"Man, the service in this place sucks." Keith's drawl floated across the room, pitched to carry.

"I'll show you what it's like to get serviced," Hunk retorted, then sputtered. "No, wait, that came out wrong."

"God, it's like talking to Lance." Keith turned his gaze on Hunk, a faint smile ghosting over his features. He studied Hunk's face, his expression thoughtful, and Hunk felt his insides start to squirm. _What the hell?_ He realized he'd been staring at Keith's mouth an inappropriate amount of time and turned away abruptly. _Oh no._

"Not that you'd know. How come you only show up when everyone's in bed?" Hunk scrambled to recover, picking a cookbook tablet out of a nearby cupboard. He powered it up and starting skimming through menus, refusing to look at Keith. _What is wrong with you? Get it together._

"I'm not here to visit. Like I told you, I drop off intel that's too sensitive to send through the frequencies, even encrypted. The castle's not even my only stop." Keith sounded bored. Hunk risked a glance, covertly.

"Yeah yeah, places to go, people to do, too good to hang out with your friends."

"I… don't think that's the saying, Hunk." There was a smirk in Keith's voice, like a laugh barely concealed.

Hunk paused, fighting a mental battle in which he debated the merits of never speaking again or throwing himself out an airlock. "Since when do you know what sayings are, Keith?" he blurted.

"Um…"

"Anyway, get your ass off my table." Hunk marched forward. "Jeez. People have to eat off that, you know."

Keith snorted, but stood up and unclipped a chair. He sprawled into it gracelessly, eyes on Hunk. "Still not sleeping?"

"I'd say that's apparent." Hunk's tone was more irritated than he'd intended. He pulled a pair of mugs out of the cupboard. "You want a cup of tea or something?" He asked, trying to keep the sharp edges out of his voice.

"Sure, sounds good." Keith sounded mildly surprised, as though he hadn't just been waiting in the kitchen for Hunk to show up and feed him. "I'll take anything containing caffeine, or the space equivalent."

"Sounds like you enjoy being awake, all the time." Hunk tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

"I don't sleep much." Keith drummed his fingers on the table, his expression contemplative. "Maybe you should ask Allura if there's any Altean insomnia cures. I mean, the ship's archives must have something, even if Allura doesn't know herself. Coran probably knows dozens."

"What, are you tired of running into me like this?" Hunk placed a selection of jars on the counter in front of him. Most contained what looked like dried leaves, in a multitude of colors. Others held seeds, bits of bark, and what appeared to be a small assortment of glittering beads. Hunk picked sage green leaves, a piece of white lichen, and three shades of purple seeds, and started to measure out portions.

"No, I just mean-" Keith looked flustered, all of a sudden. Hunk decided to be magnanimous and save him. _Even though he doesn't deserve it, showing up here like he didn't almost die last week._

"I know what you meant," Hunk interrupted. "Insomnia's not what's wrong with me. Not really."

"Well, whatever it is, there's probably help if you ask. Go see Allura, or are you still scared of her?"

"Very funny, you telling _me_ to ask for help," Hunk said flatly. "And I'm not scared of her. Just… intimidated. Sometimes." He pressed a few buttons and filled a carafe with boiling water. "I seem to remember that you were the one she yelled at the most."

"I remember being the one you _all_ yelled at the most." Keith leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

"Well, you did your own fair share of yelling."

"Yeah, out of frustration."

Hunk didn't have an answer for that, at least not one he thought Keith would want to hear. He turned back to the cupboard for a moment and found a jar of a sweet yellow spice. "You think Allura's still awake?" He asked, trying to drag the conversation out of the argument it was fast approaching.

Keith spread his hands. "You'd know better than I would. You want to go check?"

Hunk tossed the leaves into the carafe and watched them dissolve into nothingness. The water turned the faintest shade of green and smelled strongly of cardamom and lemon.

"I think showing up in Allura's bedroom in the middle of the night is a pretty good way to get murdered." He poured a cup of tea, added a spoonful of spice from the jar, and handed it to Keith.

"If you say so." Keith took a swig of tea and Hunk winced.

"That's… boiling hot, Keith."

Keith shrugged. "It's fine." He unclipped the chair beside him and kicked it towards Hunk. "What's in it?"

This was a safe topic, and Hunk dove into an explanation. "A combination of herbs and spices from three different planets in the Theta-Rho quadrant. I'm starting to realize that combining flavours from different eco-systems can lead to amazing results, although there's always the risk that something will react badly with something else and create a caustic acid or some sort of hemorrhagic poison." Hunk sat beside Keith, who was regarding his teacup with newfound caution, and realized what he'd just said. "Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

Keith exhaled slowly, as though he didn't want to explain. "Better. According to Kolivan's medics, the healing pod stopped the internal bleeding and stripped most of the bloody fluid out of my lungs. Apparently, that would have killed me before the poison stopped my heart. The antidotes I had were calibrated for a full-blood Galra, and they didn't know how they'd react with human physiology. So, good call on the healing pod. I didn't even need any extra stitches once I got back. At least, not from that." Keith said it like it was nothing, whether he survived or whether he didn't.

Hunk sat quietly, beginning to realize that he couldn't handle being around Keith. At all. Keith might have continued talking, describing some narrow escape, but Hunk couldn't hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He set his cup down carefully, afraid he'd crush it in his grip.

"So, you would have died. On the floor, over there," he said eventually, gritting out the words.

Keith shrugged, indifferent. "I might have survived the night. Or figured out that I needed help and called you guys. Or realized the antidotes weren't working as expected and headed back to the base early." He leaned forward, meeting Hunk's horrified gaze. "Don't look at me like that. I'm saying thank you, here."

Hunk frowned, looking away from Keith. He forced himself to be still, counting the spacing of each breath. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until Hunk decided he was actually being mean by dragging this out. He reclaimed his teacup and tried not to be annoyed. "Alright. You don't have to thank me, jeez. Just, promise me you won't die in my kitchen."

Keith smirked, then saw Hunk's irritable glower and answered solemnly. "I promise, Hunk."

Hunk took a deep breath and tried to calm himself again. _It's official. Being around Keith drives me absolutely bat-fuck insane._ He sipped his tea and tried not to think about Keith, sitting on the floor, letting his lungs fill up with blood. _Okay, that's not working._

"And if you think you might be dying, ask for help, for fuck's sakes." Hunk gave up trying to contain his thoughts. "I mean, you were actually in the fucking castle. Everyone on-board would have helped you in an instant. There was no need-" Hunk realized he'd raised his voice and cut himself off abruptly. _Yep, still pissed._ At some point he'd stood up to better glare down at Keith.

Keith, having proven during his time with both the Garrison and the Marmora that he was not intimidated by large men shouting at him, watched him calmly. The wariness Hunk had seen in him last week was gone, and Hunk decided that it must have been an effect of being poisoned and wounded. Keith had probably assessed him as a threat and decided he wasn't enough of one to bother standing up.

"Are you alright?" Keith leaned back on one elbow to look up at him better. "Normally it's me that loses it and starts yelling."

Hunk fumed. "I just… It would have been a stupid way to die." He looked at Keith, and suddenly the room was too small for the both of them. He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving the kitchen for the castle's labyrinthine system of corridors. Hunk picked directions at random, unsure of why he'd picked today, of all days, to develop a temper. _Because that is definitely Keith's thing, if it's anyone's._

It wasn't that Hunk didn't feel angry at times, but normally it wasn't directed at a person. _Just, you know, the Galra Empire, the oppression of innocent beings, the injustice of destroying worlds and lives for profit, things like that. Oh, and Keith, when he was fucking off with the Blade of Marmora when he should have been leading Voltron. …Oh._

Hunk wandered further into the castle, not even bothering to wave on the lights. His footsteps echoed down each empty corridor, mixing with the hum of the crystal engines. Away from Keith, he was able to calm down a bit. In his presence, he seemed to run a gamut of emotions from awkwardness to rage. It wasn't like him, and it wasn't fair to Keith. He'd never hollered at Pidge or Lance for getting hurt on a mission. He wasn't sure why he was yelling at Keith for that. _Admit it, he makes you really fucking weird._

Hunk turned down another hallway and put Keith out of his thoughts. Darkness shadowed every doorway. He was just beginning to think about the time the ship's system had glitched and turned against them when a shadow detached itself from the wall. Hunk jumped and swore. He was deep in the interior of the castle, beyond the ring of cargo holds, and unarmed. _As usual_. He took a step back, halfway into a fighting stance but ready to run for it, depending on what appeared.

Keith stepped into the glow of a nearby light panel, carrying a steaming cup in each hand. He passed one to Hunk. "You forgot your tea."

Hunk accepted the cup wordlessly, resisted the urge to throw it in Keith's face, and took a sip, scalding his throat. Keith tossed his back in one gulp as though he didn't feel pain.

"It's okay, Hunk," he said after a moment. "Sometimes I can't stand my own bullshit either."

"No, nope, I'm not talking to you yet. You're still pissing me off." Hunk strode down the dark hallway, and Keith fell into step at his side, more than easily keeping pace. "Are you following me for a reason?" He asked, forgetting his own rule. "And how'd you get ahead of me anyway?"

Keith shrugged. "The ship's not that big and you're not exactly quiet."

"And you're all about that sneaky ninja shit now, aren't you?" Hunk asked, not caring how spiteful he sounded.

"Voltron can't be everywhere at once. The Marmora are a guerrilla force, with semi-independent operatives. There's not nearly enough of us for an all-out war. Overt action would be put down hard. It's not 'sneaking.'"

"That sounds exactly like ninjas. It doesn't sound much like you."

"What, you think I can't go anywhere without starting a fight? I choose my battles."

"You choose all of them. Does Kolivan have to remind you not to attack everyone before each mission?"

"… No." Keith answered in a way that meant yes, Kolivan did.

"See," Hunk gestured with his teacup. "Proves my point."

"And what was that?"

"You're reckless."

"I'm effective. You in any parades lately?" Keith didn't try to hide his contempt.

"It's a military show of force to inspire our new allies. If we gain enough support, maybe the Galra will just surrender peacefully and no one will get hurt."

"It's victory or death, Hunk. The Galra aren't just going to roll over and apologize for enslaving the universe. And your new allies show Voltron a very sugar-coated version of what happens when you liberate a planet from centuries of oppressive government. They probably wait till you're back in orbit before the public executions start. Either that or they mop the blood out of the parade square before you arrive."

"That's gross, Keith," Hunk swallowed hard. "You think that's actually what happens?"

"You think these planets just have new global governments ready to go in the event they get liberated? Organized, competent, free of corruption?"

"Well, no. I'm sure it takes a while to get political processes up and running again. But it's not like we're causing civil wars in space."

"It's naïve to think that everyone is as good as you are, Hunk. And people are only as good as their circumstances allow." Keith handed back his teacup, and Hunk accepted it numbly. They were at the kitchen door somehow. Hunk didn't remember choosing a path that would lead them back here.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hunk asked, unsettled enough to forget how annoyed he was at Keith.

"Because it's reckless to think that everyone believes in the same greater good that you do. You might wander away from a parade route and get stabbed or something."

"Well, that's a grim outlook on life. Thank you for that." Hunk held out a hand. "I believe you owe me a plate as well as all this unsolicited information."

Keith looked sheepish. "It got smashed. Sorry. Hard landing."

"Did your ship get smashed too?"

A pause. "… Yeah."

"The hell, Keith?"

"Not my fault. I got shot down."

"Oh my god. I can't even deal with you." Hunk brushed past the Blade to head into the kitchen, but Keith grabbed his arm.

"Wait, Hunk. Here. I need a favour." He passed Hunk a tiny sliver of glass and metal. Hunk recognized it as a Galra-made data storage device. "Would you look at this for me?" Keith continued. "I'd like another set of eyes on it, and an engineer's opinion."

"My opinion regarding what?" Hunk asked flatly.

"Weak points, structural flaws, how many kilos of explosives you think it might withstand… that kind of stuff."

"Don't the Marmora have engineers? Like, really good ones, able to build machines that warp black holes and create space pockets?"

"The ones who could build those things are dead now. And those we have left are stretched pretty thin."

"Seems risky to outsource."

"That's why I'm asking you."

Hunk frowned, considering. "I'll look at it, if I have time. You want me to send a message to Kolivan when I'm done, or will you be back?"

"I'll be back for an answer in an Earth-week or two, don't send it over the frequencies. And if you have a datapad that's not connected to the ship's systems to view it, that would be best."

"And that doesn't sound suspicious at all."

"The mission's going forward whether I have your input or not, Hunk. It'd just be helpful." Keith sounded uncertain, diffident even. He looked askance, not meeting Hunk's gaze.

"Fine. So long as you're not making me complicit in the murder-fest you call espionage."

"Your help will reduce the casualty count, if that makes you feel better."

"Not really." Hunk pocketed the intel. "See you in a week, then."

* * *

Alarms blared, Yellow screamed in his head, and Hunk could not get any of the controls to respond. The cockpit was smeared in blood and hydraulic fluid, and he could feel the massive rents in his lion's sides as though he was the one that was wounded. Yellow writhed in his mind, their bond flickering. Hunk could sense her rerouting the energy that powered her, trying to protect him. He could feel her dying, taste the sickness in his throat. Static blared across the screens as they plummeted out of the sky, burning in the atmosphere, dragged down by gravity to the bottom of a well, and-

"Hunk?!"

Someone was on top of him, gripping his shoulders, shaking him. Strong hands pressed down, too close to his throat. It felt like a threat. It had to be. How had he survived the crash?

"Hunk, c'mon, wake up."

The panic that clenched his chest eased a fraction but didn't dissipate. He lashed out before he could stop himself, felt his fist connect, and heard a muffled curse.

"Ow, fuck! You really need to wake up, right now."

He knew that voice, but it didn't make any sense. Hunk hauled himself the rest of the way into consciousness by sheer force of will, resisting the dream that threatened to drag him back down into chaos and violence. He thrashed his head to shake off the nightmare, heart pounding, his shirt soaked in sweat.

"Go easy, Hunk, it's alright, you're safe."

Hunk felt the gentle pressure of Yellow settle in the back of his mind, a calming, sensible presence. He opened his eyes to see Keith. In his quarters. Straddling his waist.

"Um…"

"You don't wake up easy, do you?" Keith muttered. He squeezed Hunk's right shoulder with one hand and rested the other over Hunk's heart. "Better just breathe for a minute."

Hunk nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back against his pillows, unable to process just what was going on. He hadn't seen Keith in a week, and he'd spent every spare moment poring over the data he'd been given. He hadn't slept much, but he did remember coming back to his bunk after an utterly disastrous day on the bridge. Four rebel ships destroyed by Galra cruisers, a supply line carrying food to refugees on Quintant Three so disrupted as to be worthless, and Team Voltron always at least six galaxies away from being useful, scrambling around stamping out fires while half the universe burned down behind them. He'd been completely exhausted, his body winning out over his agitated brain. He must've slept, because otherwise it meant that he'd started having nightmares while awake and that was a whole other set of problems he didn't need to deal with.

Hunk opened his eyes and winced at the harsh lighting. Keith waved the lights down again without a word, then reached for Hunk's hands. Hunk realized he was shaking, the adrenaline from his nightmare still coursing through his veins. Keith folded Hunk's arms across his chest then lifted his hands towards his collarbone, pressing down firmly. Eventually, Hunk managed to regain control of his breathing. He opened his eyes again, looking up at Keith.

"Did I hit you?" He asked.

Keith rubbed his jaw. "I got in your way."

"Sorry. I-"

"It's fine, Hunk. You barely grazed me." Keith's tone was surprisingly unconcerned for someone who'd just wrestled a large, flailing man out of a nightmare.

"Are you… gonna get off me?" Most of Keith's weight was on Hunk's waist, the rest leaning on his chest with one hand. He wore dark clothing instead of his Marmora armor, and Hunk could feel the warmth of his body against him. It wasn't unpleasant, or even uncomfortable, but it'd been a while since anyone had climbed on top of him in bed and Hunk was becoming very aware of just how close Keith was to him. _Nope. Nope. God, what is wrong with you?_

"I did try shouting at you first. Didn't have any effect. Neither did turning up the lights." Keith deftly swung a leg over Hunk, shuffling until he was seated sideways on the bed with one foot tucked under him. He was still pressed close to Hunk's side, one hand keeping Hunk's arms in place. Hunk had a vague idea that Keith was treating him like a puppy afraid of fireworks. He wasn't sure if he should find it endearing or feel mortified. He squirmed, and Keith immediately gave him a bit more space.

"So, um… thanks for waking me up. Did you break into my room for a reason, or just to creep on me while I was sleeping?"

"Well, you weren't in the kitchen when I arrived, and I got tired of waiting."

"Can't cook for yourself?"

"Is there a space equivalent of scrambled eggs on toast?"

"Yes, but no one's been able to get past the olive-green colour long enough to try it."

"Sounds gross."

"It's not that bad." Hunk sighed, tucking an arm behind his head. He could barely see Keith's profile in the darkness.

"I looked at the files you gave me and made my edits." Reaching under his pillow, he retrieved the data and handed it to Keith. "If it's a building, parts look more like they were grown on site than constructed. I circled what might be weak points; a few seams here and there. I didn't see any flaws in the blueprints. There's a weird structure running through the main building, like a reinforced frame, but I can't tell what it is without actually seeing it. And without a sample for photoelectron spectroscopy, there's no easy way to judge the material composition. I gave my best guess and attached my notes. Please don't use this information to kill people."

"I told you, if this is done right, it'll save lives."

"I notice that's not the same as saying, yes Hunk, I won't kill anyone."

Keith exhaled slowly, wiping a gloved hand over his face. "Are your nightmares always this bad?"

"I'd say that was probably average. Just the usual, falling and dying." Hunk yawned, not really wanting to let Keith get away with changing the topic, but too exhausted to protest too much. Keith seemed to be looking at him again, or at least turned towards his face. The lighting made it hard to tell.

"I have some time, if you want to go back to sleep. I'll stay here and wake you up if you start thrashing around again."

"So, you did break in here to creep on me."

"Hunk, I-"

"I'm kidding." Hunk rustled around a bit, getting comfortable. "Wake me up before you leave?" _And let's try not to overthink this…_

"Yeah, okay."

* * *

Yep, still uneven in tone, but hopefully that will get better as I go along. Also trying to drag everyone back into character. Anyway, next chapter has actual other paladins, not just the Keith and Hunk show, so... hooray? And I'm not sure if anyone's reading this here, so let me know. Otherwise it's easier for me to just post this on AO3. The fandom seems much more active there.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: Most of the plot got bumped to the next chapter, so this is more of an interlude. Going forward, this will probably only be updated regularly on AO3. I'll update here as I have time. This chapter rated M for swearing. All characters depicted are 18+.

* * *

Three

"Hey," the voice was quiet, a hand gently gripped his shoulder. "Hunk, I gotta leave. I'll miss my rendezvous if I stay any longer."

Hunk resisted the urge to pull the blanket over his head and opened his eyes, struggling to get them to focus. The room blurred in his vision, and for a moment his brain refused to accept that it was Keith's voice, and Keith, in his bunk. Keith sat next to him, completely relaxed, his back casually pressed up against Hunk's side as though this was something they did all the time. _Um… nope._ The room was softly lit and full of shadows. The computer interface near his bed showed that it was still off-shift hours, though very nearly morning.

Hunk wiped a hand over his face, trying to ignore the welter of emotions that arrived with consciousness. He stretched, and Keith immediately rearranged himself to give Hunk a bit of space, as though he hadn't realized that he'd been physically leaning on him. Keith didn't move _that_ far away though – he simply shuffled forward an inch or two, placing his feet firmly on the floor, and sitting up so that his posture reflected the years of military training he'd had at the Garrison. Hunk could still feel the warmth of him, and wondered for a moment if he was actually delirious. _Or maybe still dreaming?_

 _Keith is in my room. Keith is in my bed… Well, on my bed._ Hunk squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then looked again. Keith was still there, starting to look slightly concerned, as though Hunk was going to yell, or throw him out. He held a datapad in his hand, the screen glowing faintly, though his attention was entirely on Hunk. Hunk wasn't sure he could deal with that kind of scrutiny this morning, especially as his brain seemed unwilling to get in the game. _Keith is in my bed because when he came looking for information, I happened to be thrashing around in a nightmare. Right. I was dying in my sleep, and Keith woke me up. Facts established. And then he offered to stay, and he did._

The idea that Keith had stayed the night, keeping watch over him, rattled around in his brain and tugged at his heart. Hunk was unexpectedly moved by the gesture, even though it contrasted jarringly with the reality of Keith's choices. Keith had left them, and seemed to have no intention of returning to them, and whatever Hunk was feeling right now couldn't change those facts. It almost made the reality of those choices more painful: knowing that Keith remained his friend, and that he cared, and that he'd still decided not to stay. Hunk took a deep breath and decided to pretend that he wasn't feeling anything, at all.

"Okay, I'm awake. Mostly." Hunk yawned, waving the lights up to a brighter setting and immediately regretting it. He blinked a few times and waited for his vision to adjust. Keith sat quietly on his bed, looking slightly relieved that Hunk had finally decided to speak. He was dressed tidily in soft dark clothing, a mix of grays and blacks, and Hunk figured it was probably some sort of ninja under-armor. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Keith wear any sort of civilian clothing, and he wasn't sure this counted. "You off-duty?" He asked, then shook his head and waved a hand at Keith, letting him know he didn't have to answer. "Maybe not as awake as I thought," he muttered.

Keith shrugged. "I'm never technically off-duty." He paused for a moment, thinking it over before deciding to elaborate. "But I am free to organize my own time depending on the mission specs." He gestured to the datapad.

"So Kolivan isn't going to yell at you for not getting back to the base or wherever last night?"

Keith shook his head. "No, he knows where I am. I'm not going to get punished or something, if that's what you mean."

"Well, kinda… I mean…" Hunk couldn't get his thoughts together. "I'm glad you stayed," he blurted, because it was the truth and because he'd apparently lost the filter between his brain and his mouth. He paused a moment to be horrified at his admission, then continued to ramble on nervously. _Just stop talking, right now, just stop._ "And I'm glad that you won't get in trouble with the Marmora. They seem like a pretty strict bunch. Like, fifty lashes at the post levels of strictness. I wouldn't have thought that you'd choose a group with more structure and rules, but that just shows what I know about you, right?" _What is wrong with you? Stop talking!_

"Hunk…"

"Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. It's just…" Hunk shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. "Do you need to leave right now?" He asked, hating that the words sounded so plaintive. The thought of Keith leaving again was making his chest hurt. _Nope, no feeling things. It was already decided._ "Why not stay a little longer? Everyone would like to see you." _And if I say this often enough, maybe you will eventually believe it, or care that I say it, or… stop._

"I don't have that much time, maybe an hour to get to my pick-up point." Keith powered off the datapad and set it aside with a slight frown. He pulled on his gloves, and then leaned down to tighten the straps on his boots. Hunk wondered how many knives Keith had hidden on his person, either up his sleeves or in his boots, in addition to the Marmora blade he wore on his belt. Keith didn't seem like he was dressed for a fight, but that was probably just one more deception. Hunk forced himself to focus.

"Is that going to take you a whole hour?" He asked.

A slight hesitation. "…No. Like, half a varga. Maybe." Keith paused, looking like he was converting the units of time in his head. Hunk supposed Keith utilized alien measurement systems even more than the rest of them. Living in the castleship with Allura and Coran wasn't the same as the complete immersion in an alien culture that Keith would have, working with the Marmora. Keith had left behind anything familiar, anything that might have tied him to Earth. _And here, this far out in space, the only thing tying us to Earth is each other, and Keith chose to… Stop it._

"So, you could've let me sleep a bit longer." Hunk decided feigned annoyance was the best way of hiding how much his own thoughts disturbed him. He yawned extravagantly and propped himself up with one arm to better see Keith's reaction.

Keith smiled at him, unexpectedly, the expression flickering across his face so quickly that Hunk wasn't sure he'd seen it at all. "Not if you're gonna have time to cook me breakfast."

 _Is Keith teasing me? I must be dreaming... or misreading this entire situation._ Hunk studied Keith's face while he had the excuse, eventually deciding that Keith had found a sense of humour after all this time. Sitting beside him, Keith looked almost happy. _Or, if not happy_ , Hunk amended, _at least somewhat content_. Honestly, it was hard to tell with Keith. _Maybe, slightly less grim than usual would be a more apt description of his expression._

Hunk realized he was still gawking at the same time he realized how rare it was to see Keith looking like he was in a good mood, let alone pleased with life. It felt like his heart was being squeezed. _Better look into that. And also, stop staring into his eyes. Jeez, you're going to freak him out._

"You know, just for that, nope. Can't cook a damn thing."

"This is tyranny."

"You bring it on yourself," Hunk said, surprising himself into laughing. Keith folded his arms and glared, but he seemed to be fighting a smile. "Lack of breakfast is an entirely self-inflicted condition, caused by a deficit in situational awareness that borders on the extreme," Hunk joked. Keith appeared to be looking for something to throw at him. Luckily, all the available pillows were currently mashed under Hunk's upper body. It seemed unlikely that Keith would consider them a possible projectile, anyway. _It's not like Keith would know how to do anything normal, like have a pillow fight…_ Hunk stopped, suddenly extremely aware that he missed Keith so much it was almost unbearable. For a moment, he couldn't even breathe. _Oh no._

"Hunk?" Keith tilted his head to the side, studying him. "Did your… brain crash or something?"

 _Say something normal. Say something. Say something._ Hunk rallied. "Your fault, waking me up at an ungodly hour and expecting me to have," he waved a hand for emphasis, "conversations." Hunk willed his heart rate to slow, certain that Keith could hear the panic in his chest. _Just be normal, for fuck's sake. Why would that even be a thing that you would worry about? No feeling feelings, remember?_

"Why, because I set the banter standard so high?" Keith asked sarcastically, leaning back out of the way when Hunk half-heartedly tried to smack him. He watched Hunk attentively, making absolutely no effort to climb off his bed. Hunk felt grubby and self-conscious, still in his clothes that he'd slept in and sweated through. He pushed his blanket aside and mentally debated the merits of simply kicking Keith off his bed. _Or trying to, at least. Might be easier said than done. But, a foot to the throat couldn't possibly be misinterpreted, so…_

"So, did you just spend the evening staring broodingly at the walls?" Hunk asked, pleased that he sounded somewhat more like his usual self. Keith's clothing was unrumpled, but Hunk figured the dark colour hid wrinkles as well as bloodstains. The fabric definitely hadn't originated on Earth; it was probably woven by mutant spiders or something. Keith stretched his arms out in front of him, and Hunk heard the joints pop in his shoulders.

"I napped, a little. It's nice and quiet on the ship. Peaceful, even."

"After you said you'd keep watch?" Hunk managed to keep the accusation out of his voice. He would never have dared to try to go back to sleep on his own after a nightmare like that. He would've crawled out of bed and forced himself to stand in the kitchen with every light on. Of course, without Keith there to wake him, he likely would've been trapped in the dream till his shouts or flailing dragged him back into consciousness.

"I'm a light sleeper. I would've woken up if you'd stirred at all." Keith stated, and Hunk believed him. Even while living in the relative security of the castleship, Keith had never let his guard down. Even when they'd formed Voltron, those walls stayed up. The tension was always there, just beneath the surface, reflexes ready for the slightest signal. Red's personality had only amplified Keith's reactions, though the Black lion had managed to buffer them a bit. Hunk couldn't imagine that Keith was any less hair-trigger in his responses now, when he lived with the Marmora in a warzone.

"And did I? I don't remember. I actually feel pretty well rested though."

"Just once, you started muttering."

"And did you wake me up?"

"No, I didn't want to shake you again. I just talked for a bit, until you settled." Keith looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"About what?" Hunk pressed, intrigued despite himself. _You're not supposed to care, right?_

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "I dunno. Pilot stuff." His mouth quirked a little with the confession. "I listed all possible trajectories and issues when landing a deep space cruiser on a planet with atmosphere… And how a pilot can accommodate shifting conditions or enemy fire or excess fuel or payload weight issues and-"

"How'd you know I'd gone back to sleep and just didn't die of boredom?" Hunk asked, fighting a smirk.

"All the snoring." Keith leaned out of range again.

"Well, maybe I subconsciously learned something about piloting then." Hunk hesitated. "Unless you were just, I dunno, reciting the script of _Top Gun_ from memory. Honestly, I've seen pilots make combat decisions based on how closely the maneuvers matched scenes from that film."

"… I don't have it memorized. You're confusing me with Lance." Keith sat up a little straighter.

"Whatever, Mister My Favourite Old Movie is Probably _Top Gun_."

"Oh, it's definitely _Top Gun_ ," Keith admitted, as though he knew Hunk would make fun of him for it, and was entirely at peace with that.

Hunk snorted a laugh, relaxing a bit. "That is such a fighter pilot thing. All of you. All of you are obsessed with it. I just don't see the appeal. I mean, it's fun to watch once, but it was basically a military recruitment film. The only good acting was from whatshername, Ellen Ripley."

Keith winced. "You mean Kelly McGillis, who played Charlie. Ripley is the main character in _Alien_."

"Oh right…. See, obsessive. Typical."

"I'm not obsessed, that's common knowledge." Keith stopped abruptly, turning to look Hunk in the eye. "I'm telling Lance you mixed them up," he said lightly, as though the consequences of this act wouldn't haunt Hunk for months. Hunk could picture it now, not a moment's rest, Lance appearing out of nowhere with detailed presentations and lecture notes, seeing this honest mistake as a personal affront. He'd probably make Hunk watch it again, pausing every few minutes to provide commentary. It would be like the time he'd mixed up two of Lance and Pidge's favourite video games. The razzing would be endless.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I might even tell Pidge… Unless, well. I might be persuaded to keep that information to myself." Telling Pidge was a death threat, and Keith had to know that. Pidge probably carried a picture of Sigourney Weaver in her wallet.

"With breakfast, you asshole?"

Keith laughed. "Hey, I'm not the one who insulted a classic film. Or rather, two classic films."

"Neither of those films are classics, but I suppose they didn't let your class watch anything without explosions."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Jeez, Hunk, how do you really feel about pilots? I had to pass the same math and physics entrance exams that you did."

"What, you mean you're not all aggressive, oversexed jocks who aren't happy unless you're flying so fast it should be considered a near death experience?" Hunk's words didn't come out as jokingly as he'd intended.

Keith huffed as though offended, although it seemed like he didn't know how to answer. "Sometimes other things make me happy." He glared at Hunk.

"Yeah, yeah, breakfast, I know." Hunk rolled his eyes, conceding defeat. "I'll cook you something, but only because you threatened to tell Pidge that I mixed up her favourite character, played by her favourite actress, with the flight instructor from _Top Gun_. And because I don't want to be murdered for my mistake in some elaborately mathematical and overly clever way, probably involving a power loader…" Hunk sighed, "in exchange for breakfast, I'll need your silence on this topic, forever."

"…Seems fair."

"Also, get off my bed."

* * *

"You know, when I see that, my first thought is that I don't want to put it in my mouth."

"Sounds like something a coward would say."

"No, Hunk, really. I think I just threw up a little."

"Well, I think you're being overly dramatic, and that's usually an accusation reserved solely for Lance, so-"

"So maybe there's a… vegetarian option this morning?" Keith asked hopefully, holding up something that looked like a zucchini.

"I can't believe we've been in space this long and you haven't tried one of these yet."

"Because it looks like an unholy cross between a leech and a lotus seed pod? I feel fear when I look at it. Or, I think that's what I'm feeling." Keith made a disgusted face and took a step back. "I might be sick."

"It's actually the closest thing to an intergalactic chicken egg that I've found so far, but I think it might actually be some sort of fungi. There just hasn't been time to figure out any sort of alien taxonomic equivalencies, and really, where would we start?" Hunk held up the offending item, and Keith winced and looked away.

"I'm sure Pidge has some ideas." Keith gestured to the doorway.

"Yes, Pidge does. Questions, too. Like, why are you awake at this hour?" Pidge wandered into the kitchen, dressed in a tank top and shorts, looking like she'd slept face down on a laptop. Her hair, always unruly, stuck out at gravity-defying angles. She had a series of equations, seemingly written in sharpie pen, scrawled over her left forearm. Ink smudged her chin.

"Hunk's trying to make me eat this," Keith blurted. "Save me."

Pidge did a doubletake then, taking off her glasses to wipe at her eyes. "Keith?" She asked, incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"He's complaining, mostly," Hunk interjected.

"Hopefully being fed breakfast soon." Keith answered, then staggered back a step as Pidge launched herself upward into his arms. He caught her in a bearhug and managed to rebalance them both before they crashed into Hunk.

"How come you don't greet me like that?" Hunk asked, taking a moment to admire his teammates' agility and hating how petulant he sounded.

"Because I see you every day?" Pidge answered, half-muffled by Keith's neck, at the same time that Keith mumbled, "Never an appropriate time?"

"Well anyway, now that you're here too, you can help. Keith's supposed to be chopping tubers, but mostly he's been whining about the menu."

"Have not," Keith protested.

"So," Hunk raised his voice for emphasis, "maybe help him finish that, and then get started grating those yellow roots over there."

Keith carried Pidge the three steps to the counter and waited while she disentangled herself and climbed out of his arms. She grinned up at him, completely delighted. Keith seemed perplexed by her reaction. Hunk resisted a sigh. _Other people miss you too. Do you not see that, or do you not care?_

"So, what is this, some sort of breakfast therapy club?" When that didn't get a response, Pidge turned to Keith. "I thought you only made the info drops during the off-shift. Something change?" she asked, selecting a knife from the nearest drawer and testing the edge with her thumb.

"No…" Keith paused, thinking over his words. "It just worked out this way this time. It won't be a habit, as far as I know." Keith slid half of the tubers towards Pidge and resumed working on his own set.

Hunk watched them for a moment, then turned his attention back to the soup stock he'd started. Part of him wanted to call the other paladins to the kitchen, get them to help cook something, then sit around together, just hanging out and enjoying each others' company. _Just like old times, right?_ The idea nagged at him, half nostalgia and half blatant longing, building up until it hurt. _Get a grip, Hunk._ He sighed, trying to will the feeling away. _There's no point in being sentimental. Those days are gone._

"What are you doing over there, Hunk? Besides staring gloomily into the soup? That, uh, doesn't give me high hopes about its flavour." Pidge peered quizzically in his direction, adjusting her glasses. Her voice pulled Hunk back to the present, and he found he was grateful for the distraction.

"He's just worried he might get murdered with a power loader some day," Keith offered, helpfully.

"Like in _Alien_?"

"Hey, it's a legitimate fear." Hunk glared over his shoulder at Keith.

"Was this… a discussion I missed earlier?" Pidge carefully sliced a tuber into exactly equal cubes.

"Yeah." Keith leaned against the counter-top, cleaning a knife with a scrap of cloth. He didn't appear to be helping to chop anything, at all.

"It's Keith's way of criticizing the menu." Hunk made sure Keith caught his pointed look. Pidge glanced back and forth between them.

"Okay, well, I'm obviously not awake enough to catch all the nuance that's being thrown around here," Pidge yawned. She abandoned her knife and started to search the cupboards. "Do we have anything caffeinated? Or you know, something with chemicals that will match with my neurotransmitter receptors and act like caffeine?"

"Does everyone hate sleep? Is that the issue here?" Hunk found a bottle of silvery leaves and tossed them to Pidge. "Three to a cup."

"Fantastic. And, speaking of sleeping, are you?" Pidge found three teacups and set them out with much more enthusiasm than Hunk felt was warranted.

"Am I what?" He stalled, noting that Keith was half-turned towards him, making no effort to pretend he wasn't listening intently.

"Sleeping. What I just said." Pidge emphasized each word. Hunk wished he had something to throw at her. He considered the soup spoon in his hand and decided it was unworthy as a projectile.

"Not really, I guess. You know how it is," Hunk said, pointedly. "Usually I can't fall asleep. And when I do manage to, I get nightmares." Hunk tried to keep resentment out of his voice. Pidge knew this already, and there was no need to make him say it aloud, in front of Keith. _Of course, Keith has seen firsthand what my dreams are like._

"Still?" Pidge asked. "I thought they might have gotten better… But why can you sleep on the bridge then?"

"I have to sleep somewhere," Hunk shrugged. "And I feel better knowing you guys are around to wake me up if I need it."

"Maybe…" Keith began hesitantly, as though he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Maybe you should move in with Lance." Keith held up his hands to ward off their protests. "It sounds horrifying, I know, but if you need someone in the room with you…"

"Lance could sleep through a missile bombardment. And if he thought he had to look after me, he'd just stay awake all night. We'd still have a sleep-deprived paladin. It wouldn't solve anything."

"Did you try sleeping in Yellow? Probably not very comfortable, but we could find extra pillows and blankets for you." Pidge added another leaf to her teacup.

"Yeah, that didn't work either. I just don't know enough about how the lions interface with human consciousness, or how dreams work, or what triggers a defensive response in the lions. I mean, is it brainwave frequencies? I know Red came to rescue Keith when we were first meeting with the Marmora, but I don't know what provoked that action, or why Red didn't rescue him earlier…" Hunk trailed off, too uncomfortable to continue. He didn't want to tell them that in most of his nightmares, Yellow was present, but wounded or otherwise unable to help him. He didn't think he could handle their reaction to that particular piece of information.

"So…" Pidge prompted, expectantly.

"So, don't worry about it. It'll work out." Hunk didn't mean to snap, but he knew he sounded frustrated.

"That seems like the last thing you would say." Keith's tone was thoughtful. He examined the knife in his hand, and Hunk was glad that he wasn't looking at him.

"I mean, let me worry about it."

"That… sounds more Hunk-like." Pidge frowned, pouring the cups of tea with exaggerated care.

Hunk grimaced and turned his attention back to the stove. He didn't hear any footsteps, but a moment later Keith was standing at his elbow. Hunk steeled himself and met Keith's gaze directly.

"Well, I hate to miss out on breakfast, but as it appears to be hell-spawn-chicken egg soup, I've really got to get going." Keith lowered his voice a notch. "Thanks for your help."

Hunk didn't feel he could say, _thanks for not letting me scream myself awake_ in front of Pidge, so he just nodded. Keith touched his arm lightly, then sauntered out the door without looking back. Hunk stared after him until, across the room, Pidge cleared her throat.

"Hunk?" She asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

Pidge didn't answer immediately. Instead she headed towards him, carrying the cups of tea. Hunk accepted one gratefully. Holding onto the cup gave him something to do. The third cup of tea remained untouched on the countertop and Hunk stared at it wistfully before catching himself.

"What?" He asked again.

Pidge stifled a yawn and took a sip of her tea, wincing at its temperature. "Do you see Keith often?"

"No, hardly ever. This is only the third time I've seen him, since he left Voltron."

"I knew he probably made the drops. I didn't think to wait up for him." Pidge sighed, looking into her teacup sadly. "I've been distracted, looking for Matt. Every lead just fizzles out." She gestured with her empty hand.

"It was only by chance that I met up with Keith the first time. It's not like he's knocking on our doors for a visit."

"Do you think he's okay? Blade of Marmora agents don't exactly seem to have a lengthy life expectancy. I mean, none of us are really safe but statistically, those odds aren't good." Pidge tapped one fingernail against her teacup, biting her lip.

"He doesn't seem to want to come back, so…" Hunk shrugged. He glanced at Pidge, wondering if he looked as dismayed as she did.

"I miss him," Pidge whispered.

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

Any feedback, comments, criticism, etc. is greatly appreciated. I love Pidge but have no idea how to write her. The plot (such as it is) returns next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's notes: After this chapter, this fic will only be updated on Archive of Our Own (where it's already at 11 chapters) and discontinued here.

This chapter is rated M for swearing, violence, extrajudicial killings, xenophobia, and a couple comments about Galra interbreeding with conquered and colonized alien populations. All characters depicted are 18+.

* * *

Four

"Look alive, team," Lance's voice jolted Hunk back to awareness from… wherever he'd been. He stared at the screens in front of him, watching the numbers scroll past in a blur, alarm lights flickering in amber pulses. The shuttle jolted, g-forces suddenly increased, and Hunk staggered against the movement, trying to keep his feet. He gripped the screen with one hand to keep his balance and typed commands as fast as he could with the other, his fingers slippery with blood. Nausea rolled over him in waves, and the warning lights changed to red, a claxon starting to blare.

A loud bang and the shuttle lurched sideways, throwing Hunk to the floor. He spat bile and clawed his way to his feet, looking around for Lance and Pidge, knowing that they were in the shuttle with him, they always were, they had to be. But their stations were empty, blood smeared over the safety harnesses, no one at the controls. Hunk threw himself towards the helm, tripped and fell and tried again, panic filling his entire being. The shuttle shook as it breached atmosphere, it was definitely crashing, and his friends were gone, dead. Smoke filled the cabin, and Hunk couldn't breathe, and then Lance's voice, again, coming from nowhere…

"Hunk, buddy, wakey-wakey…"

And a moment later Hunk opened his eyes, his heart thudding in his chest. He gripped the armrests on his chair as though he could physically pull himself up into consciousness and away from the dream. He took a deep breath and held it a moment, trying to calm himself down. His vision was still blurry, but he could tell he was on the bridge, at his station. Lance and Pidge stared back at him, standing beside his console, and apparently using their bodies to block him from view.

"I'm awake," Hunk whispered, "what's going on?" He was pleased with how normal he sounded, and both Pidge and Lance immediately looked relieved.

"We've got dignitaries on the big screen." Lance pronounced the word dignitaries as though it offended him to use it, and Hunk got the impression he was repeating orders given by Allura. "They want to ally with Voltron, join the Alliance. We were just gonna let you snooze 'cause god knows you need it, but uh…" Lance hesitated. "Bad dreams, huh man?" He patted Hunk on the shoulder, concerned but distracted. "Maybe wipe your face before you meet them?"

Hunk touched his face, surprised to discover his cheeks were wet. "The hell?"

"You started crying in your sleep, so we had to wake you. And this group, they're called Arziin or something, or their planet's called Arziin, I dunno. They demanded a video meeting so they could see us before they meet us, like some sort of cultural thing. I guess they were scared we'd look like Galra? Anyway…" Lance turned to face the main screens on the bridge, still blocking Hunk from view. "Come see them when you're ready, 'cause honestly, hot damn."

Hunk rubbed his eyes and glanced at Pidge, who mouthed 'good enough' and returned to stand beside Shiro and Allura. He allowed Lance to pull him to his feet and followed him numbly across the bridge, where the negotiations were wrapping up. The Arziin, who to Hunk resembled vaguely reptilian but beautifully-striped antelopes, looked him over briefly before returning their attention to Allura.

Hunk stood in silence, pushing the dream from his mind and trying to focus. He watched the aliens, attempting to analyse their responses to Allura's questions, searching for patterns. By the time the meeting had ended, all he'd managed to gather was that the Arziin hated the Galra with the burning heat of a thousand suns, that they liked Allura better than Shiro, and that Lance was correct in that they were unreasonably attractive. _And if I hadn't slept through most of this meeting, I might be more useful to my team now…_

Hunk resisted the urge to fidget until the last screen had gone dark, standing behind his team the way the Arziin had guards standing behind their spokesperson. He fought down the anxiety that coiled in his gut, keeping his expression carefully neutral, hating that now he was far more nervous dealing with his teammates than he was meeting potentially hostile alien civilizations. He worried that they'd ask him what was going on, and then he'd have to tell them, or lie, and then either way that would make it worse, turn it into a spiral where he wouldn't even know what to worry about first. Hunk claimed a datapad from a nearby station, just for something to hold in his hands. He barely managed not to jump when Shiro started speaking.

"So, what do we know?"

Lance piped up first. "They're hot, and they hate the Galra. We definitely need to help them."

"They're more than a little paranoid." Pidge stepped up beside Hunk and nudged him with her elbow. "Did you get that too? I saw you watching them."

 _Thank you, Pidge._ "Yeah, they seemed on edge, but it's hard to tell for sure. I mean, they're aliens, who knows if we're reading them correctly?" Hunk paused to gather his thoughts. _Be useful_. "They liked Allura, or at least were more willing to answer her questions. They definitely had a different response to Shiro, but that could be because his questions were about military strategy, and tactics, not diplomacy. Or because they thought Allura was speaking for all of us, and were annoyed that she let Shiro ask questions too. Or maybe they recognized Shiro's arm as Galra tech, and they were worried about it. They really seemed to hate anything to do with the Galra."

Shiro nodded. "That's understandable, given their history. I contacted Kolivan before this meeting to see if he had any intel to share. The planet's considered a backwater, with little strategic importance. The Galra conquered it maybe two hundred years ago, left a squadron to rule the population, and haven't done much else with it. There's a few stations for refueling, but it's not on any major supply lines. And there are satellites in orbit around it for relaying messages, but it doesn't seem to be a vital part of the system. Kolivan said the only reason the Marmora even had it on their maps is because they had a couple recruits that were part-Arziin. Apparently, any Galra hybrids are loathed, and the ones that survive to adulthood either flee the planet or join the Galra as mercenaries."

Allura grimaced, as though she had a bad taste in her mouth. "Regardless of it's strategic importance, we need to help any potential allies."

"Yes, and Kolivan was quite clear that most of the population wants all Galra off the planet. Unfortunately, when the Galra first arrived, a small subset of the Arziin made deals with them, and that set a bad precedent. Since then, each government has been a puppet dictatorship, under Galra control."

"Have the Marmora tried to influence the situation? I'd like to know what we're getting into here," Allura asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

"Kolivan stated that they hadn't tried a direct offensive against the Galra forces there. He thought it would be a lot of risk for little benefit." Shiro hesitated, as though he knew that Allura wouldn't like what he was about to say. Allura looked as though she knew what was coming.

"He sent assassins, though, didn't he?" She asked quietly, her voice sad.

"Yeah, a few years ago. His Arziin-hybrid agents wanted to, and he let them. They took out most of Arziin's government, but nothing changed. The posts were filled with replacements from the general population, and everything continued on as it had before."

"Kolivan must have known…"

"Yes, I think so." Shiro frowned. "But he still allowed it. If nothing else, it signaled to the Arziin that someone was watching. I think that we have more opportunity now. The Arziin know they're not alone in this anymore, and they've taken the first step by reaching out."

"But does this group speak for their entire planet? They seemed annoyed when we asked." Pidge butted back into the conversation. "What if, by some horrible chance, opinions have changed and the majority of the population is pro-Galra? What do we do then?" Pidge typed something into a nearby station, calling up a map around them. She combed through galaxies until she found the system containing Arziin. "Strategically, the place is just about useless. I'm all for liberating it anyway, if that's what they want."

"I doubt the majority is pro-Galra. And it doesn't matter if the planet's location is useful, they still deserve to live in peace." Allura's ears twitched in annoyance.

"I'm not arguing with that, at all," Pidge protested. "I just get a weird vibe from these guys. Seems like they don't trust each other, but want us to trust them."

"They do seem wary, but that's understandable. They've reached out to Voltron from a Galra-occupied planet. Some of their own people work for the Galra, however willingly. We cannot abandon them, not when they've risked their lives already." Allura glanced at Shiro, who nodded.

"Then it's decided. We'll clear the Galra off their planet, and what they decide to do after is up to them." Shiro issued orders briskly, detailing their plan of attack. Hunk nodded in agreement when anyone looked at him, still half-dazed from the jolt of being thrown straight from a nightmare into a diplomatic meeting. He headed to his station and started searching through the databases, seeking anything that could help them.

"Are you okay, Hunk? Shiro and Allura were wondering." Pidge appeared at his side, leaning against the console. She scanned the datasets he'd arranged with approval.

"Yeah, just a bad dream," Hunk sighed. … _Where you were dead and Lance was dead and I was in the process of crashing a shuttle…_ He swiped through the limited data they had on the planet. At each new planet they visited, they updated the ship's databases as best they could, absorbing any new information they could get their hands on. Sometimes, their knowledge was still 10,000 years out of date, but that was happening less and less often as they traded liberation from the Galra for the universe's research. "They sent you to ask?"

Pidge shrugged. "They're busy, and I was wondering the same thing. Shiro said you looked like you'd run from the room if he said anything, so he didn't. It doesn't mean they aren't worried. Allura's already sent Coran to check the ship's cryo-storage for some sort of ancient Altean remedy, so watch out for that."

"Yeah, that could be a horrific surprise. Hopefully it's something you drink, and not an-"

Pidge smacked him lightly on the arm. "Gross, Hunk."

"Hey, you didn't even know what I was gonna say-"

"I can guess," Pidge laughed. "But really, you're okay? It was…" The smile left her face. "I didn't like it, seeing you like that. And then, even after you woke up, that whole meeting you just seemed so…" Pidge sighed, shaking her head.

"I'm okay, Pidge. Really."

For a second it seemed like Pidge wasn't going to let it go, but then she relented. "Okay. I'll leave it alone. For now."

Hunk nodded. "Good."

"What's good?" Lance appeared on Hunk's other side. "Did you find out anything about the Arziin's language?"

"Why, are you crafting the perfect pick-up line and unable to figure out if it's culturally appropriate?" Pidge asked.

"…maybe…" Lance grinned. "C'mon Pidge, you've seen them."

Pidge rolled her eyes. "Yes, I have."

"And…" Lance gestured for her to continue.

"And even if they're interested in banging aliens from other planets, meaning you by the way, because you're the alien in this case, and being colonized by Galra overlords hasn't soured them on that whole experience, have you considered that they just might be too busy overthrowing their oppressive government to spend time snuggling with you?" Pidge paused for breath. "And have you considered that even if they're interested, maybe you'll find out that they reproduce like the xenomorphs in _Alien_ , and we'll all wake up one morning to the unfortunate surprise that a horrific, nearly-unstoppable killing machine has burst from your chest and is now stalking us throughout our castleship home?"

"That'd be troubling," Hunk commented, looking from Pidge to Lance.

"That's not something I'd thought of, no." Lance shrugged. "But, also consider the scientific ramifications of this kind of intercultural exploration. I'll write you dweebs an essay, even, tell you all about it-"

"Please don't." Pidge winced. "And please don't pretend you have any sort of scientific motivation for, I dunno, screwing your way across the galaxy."

"Okay," Hunk held up his hands to separate Pidge and Lance, who were leaning closer and closer together over his workstation. "I'm glad you two have decided to have this conversation here, in front of me, but on an entirely unrelated note I'm actually just going to leave now…" _And I can't believe that an hour ago I was sobbing in my sleep at the thought of losing them…_

Lance laughed and clapped a hand over Hunk's shoulder. "Fine, fine, I'll let it go. But anyways, Hunk, Pidge and I are having a tournament tonight. It's been ages since she's agreed to this level of combat, so we need to take advantage. The game's _Ultimate Universe Avengers 4: Rise of the Morlocks, Go-Kart edition._ We need an impartial third person, in case there's any dispute in the scores."

"Yeah, I might have time." Hunk saw the invitation for what it was. _I've even managed to freak Lance out today. Great._

* * *

"Is it just me, or is everyone on this planet hot as fuck? I mean, we knew they were hot from seeing them on the screens, but now, it's like the dial's been turned up to eleven."

Lance's voice drifted over the hum of the crowd, and Hunk spared a glance his way. They stood on a small platform in a city-sized version of a town square, dressed in full paladin armor, surrounded on three sides by strikingly beautiful alien beings. The blue star that served as this planet's main sun cast a cold light over the proceedings, and while the air itself was warm, Hunk couldn't help but shiver. They'd helped liberate this planet, or at least its only inhabited continent, from Galra rule almost two weeks ago. Today, they'd returned to help solidify their alliance with the planet's new government and ensure that they could all work together to defeat the Galra Empire. It was a pattern they'd repeated dozens of times on new worlds, but Hunk couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the newly-appointed officials. Of course, if Lance offended them irreparably with his ogling first, any reservations Hunk had would be moot.

Hunk blamed Keith for his misgivings. He wanted to believe, fervently, that everyone, given a chance, would choose peace. He wanted to be sure that once the battle finished and the Galra were kicked off a planet, the bloodshed would end. He didn't expect everyone to get along, but he hoped that any power struggles would be quick and bloodless, and that all sides would eventually agree that rebuilding a planet would take all of them, working together. Realistically, Hunk knew that people made bad choices. He'd seen the king of the Olkari sell out his own people. But, he hoped that traitors and conspirators were rare. He hoped that people profiting off the suffering of others were few. He also knew that his hopes had a negligible effect on reality. _Of course, Keith would have me believe that all these sexy aliens are waiting for Voltron to leave so they can continue murdering their political prisoners. And that's a bit dark, even for Keith._

Still, something was off about the Arziin. They were, Hunk had to admit, despite not wanting to objectify every inhabitant of an entire planet, incredibly attractive. He just wasn't certain, when he thought about it, why he thought so. The Arziin were vaguely humanoid in appearance, striped in hues of scarlet and black, or green and violet. A third of their number had four arms instead of two. They walked upright and stood taller than humans, though not by much, and though they ranged from lithe to curvaceous to angular in their body structure, Hunk couldn't tell if they had different genders, or ages, or social statuses. It didn't seem important though, not when they were all so ridiculously good-looking.

"It must be pheromones or something," Hunk turned to Lance. "Maybe a defense mechanism? Look at their stripes. On Earth, that would either be defensive camouflage, or a warning about venom. So… Maybe that's what's weird about them? We're just having a strange reaction to them up close? We saw them on screens, and a few of them in the battle, but we were never in close contact with them, so we wouldn't have experienced the pheromones."

"So, they could make predators like them, once they're spotted, or they could lure prey to them, despite the warning coloration." Pidge spoke up on Hunk's other side. "Of course, it's all speculation here, because our knowledge is limited to how things work on Earth. If they are producing pheromones, are they doing so voluntarily? Is our response intended, or a side-effect of our own physiology? How do the Galra react to this population?"

"So, you think they're hot too, is what you're saying," Lance stated, his eyes on the crowd.

Pidge shrugged. "Do I really think they're hot, if my reaction to seeing them is being manipulated by outside influences?"

Lance sighed. "Just say yes, Pidge."

They spent another hour standing on the platform behind the new planetary government, a symbolic gesture but one that, according to Allura, added legitimacy and political clout to a faction that others could rally around. Usually, Hunk accepted that this was a boring but necessary step towards peace, and withstood the self-congratulatory speeches of the new governments by simply zoning out. It was a matter of routine now. Voltron helped liberate a planet, with or without help from the Marmora, or the Resistance, or whatever armies the planet's inhabitants could cobble together. They'd drive off the Galra, and return a week later for a parade, and speeches, and sometimes celebratory dinners. He'd stopped giving the process much thought, until Keith had mentioned the possibility of further violence. _And we know that their old government was hand-picked and propped up by the Galra._

Today, Hunk was very much aware that the group of Arziin now in government positions were not the same group that had first contacted them about fighting the Galra. This new group had the support of the crowd though, and appeared competent enough. Rubble had been cleared from the streets in the city center, the wounded had been tended, there weren't any riots, nothing was on fire. Hunk didn't want to be a downer by asking where the first group was. It was always possible that they hadn't survived the battle, or something.

He sighed and scanned the crowd, noticing that Kolivan and a few Blade of Marmora stood to his right, at the edge of the square. They all appeared to be gazing attentively in different directions, scanning the crowd and the buildings lining the parade grounds.

"The Marmora are looking for snipers," Lance commented softly, his voice pitched low.

"Are they?" Hunk whispered.

"They keep looking at the windows in the buildings around the square, and checking the rooftops."

"Well, that's just great…" Hunk studied the Marmora again. The crowd gave them a wide berth, a reaction Hunk had seen repeated on each planet they'd freed. Shiro and Allura repeatedly emphasized the value of the Marmora and their efforts to take down the Empire, but so far each fledgling government remained wary. Their responses varied in tone from apologetic to contemptuous, and most refused to work with Galra, even those Galra sworn to destroy the Empire that oppressed them. Hunk figured they were entitled to their opinions. It wasn't like he'd grown up on a planet enslaved for decades or centuries by evil alien overlords. He didn't know what that would do to a person.

He glanced at the gathered Marmora again, trying to pick out Keith. They all had their hoods up and masks on, but none were Keith's height. He was still looking when the final speech wrapped up, and Pidge elbowed him in the ribs to prompt him to join in with the round of applause. Hunk clapped politely and followed her off-stage, Lance at his heels. They were ushered into an elegant building and shown to a quiet parlour, their gracious hosts stating that it would be culturally appropriate if they took a few moments to compose themselves before dinner.

Hunk sank into a chair, glancing around. "Do you think this room is bugged?"

"Hunk!" Allura hissed. "You'll insult our hosts."

"Only if the room is bugged," Lance spoke up. "And where's everyone who helped us fight the Galra? I don't know any of these very attractive people. They're all new, beautiful faces."

"Perhaps those who make great war-leaders, don't make good peace-time government officials. Maybe it's a taboo to hold both roles here. We don't know much about Arziin culture. We have to act in good faith." Allura frowned. "I'm not dismissing your questions. Liberating a planet can cause catastrophic upheaval, depending on which factions come to power. We need to be open, and use diplomacy to build our alliance."

"Catastrophic upheaval? You mean civil war?" Hunk asked. Allura winced but didn't answer.

"Do you ever worry that we might support the wrong faction sometimes? I'd at least like to see someone from the original group that contacted us." Lance settled himself on the arm of Hunk's chair.

"As long as we agree the Galra Empire needs to be destroyed, shouldn't we work with any government that's competent enough to rebuild their own civilization?" Shiro asked, walking over to join them. "I'm not sure if now is the time to ask these questions. We have to build the Alliance first, if we want to have any hope of defeating Zarkon. Once we do that, we can check up on all of these governments and make sure we didn't put a dictator on the throne, so to speak."

There wasn't much Hunk could say to argue with that. He caught Lance's eye, but Lance just shook his head. Before he could consider what Lance meant by that, they were called to dinner. Their hosts greeted them warmly, all smiles, and Hunk couldn't help but feel he was a trophy being put on display.

* * *

The planet warmed as its main sun set in the north, and a smaller one rose just over the edge of the horizon in the east. The sunlight reflected at odd angles off a huge, scarred moon, creating a shadowy twilight, and left Hunk wondering just what was going on with this place, physics-wise. He'd slipped away after dinner, telling Lance and Pidge that he needed some air and knowing that they'd cover for him. He could tell that they hadn't liked it, and that they'd wanted to come with him, but one absence was easier to explain than three, and he'd spoken up first.

The streets of the city were dusty, paved in black cobblestone. Once away from the parade square, all semblance of order faded, and each street became a narrow, twining alleyway. Every so often, the alleys opened to show another grimy square, or a neglected park. No one wandered through them, and Hunk remembered one of the new, grinning officials mentioning a curfew being enforced, for safety. It wasn't a good start to a new era of peace and freedom.

He'd wandered for at least a varga, half-lost in the maze of empty streets, when he found the gallows. It stood by itself in a small open square, hemmed in by tall buildings constructed of the same materials that paved the streets. Two small fires, built of something that sparked blue and smelt heavily of incense, flanked the gallows. Hunk didn't want to look at it directly, but he couldn't stop himself. It was odd that aliens would execute each other using a manner so familiar to humans.

Hunk lifted his eyes and counted the bodies that had been left out in the night, swaying a tiny amount in the breeze. Six. He took a breath, feeling panic clench in his chest. He knew he should go closer, look the dead in their faces and make sure they weren't the same Arziin that had asked for their help, but he couldn't. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, barely able to breathe. He couldn't make himself take a step in any direction, not even when three Arziin appeared on the other side of the square. They noticed him immediately. _Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

The guards advanced on him, clutching their rifles, and still he just stood there and stared at them, watched them approach numbly. He hadn't brought his bayard – it remained with Yellow, and even if this became a diplomatic mess he didn't think he was in any danger here. Sure, the beautiful aliens were angry he'd stumbled across their execution grounds, but they'd all been working together an hour ago. It was the fact that there were even executions taking place, that was the issue. _Keith was right. I told him he had a shitty outlook on the world and yet he was right. The Galra aren't the only problem here._

Hunk took a deep breath and put his thoughts in order. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, but he wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore. The Arziin, soldiers or guards or whatever they were, stopped about five paces from Hunk, flanking him. Their stripes seemed to move in the flickering light from the fires. They didn't lower their weapons.

"Paladin, a curfew is in effect. We worry that wandering alone may be unsafe for you, given the recent upheavals. Allow us to escort you back to the festivities." The one of Hunk's right spoke, tall and gleaming beautifully in the firelight. Its voice was soft and raspy, with a sultry undertone that all the Arziin had. _That's gotta be the pheromones._

Hunk stood his ground. "I can find my own way."

If the aliens were surprised by his resistance, they didn't show it. "We are concerned with your safety, not your navigational skills, Paladin. We will attend you."

Hunk had a feeling he was about to be frog-marched back to the dinner, and dropped at Shiro's feet. _I'm sure he'll love that._ He shook his head and held out his hands, showing that they were empty.

"Sorry, but I don't want to trouble you. I mean, you're supposed to be guarding the…" Hunk gestured at the gallows but couldn't make himself say it. "…That thing over there. I'll return directly, if that makes you feel any -oof."

His chest armor took the brunt of it, but the Arziin had hit him hard enough with the rifle to knock the wind out of him. Hunk dropped to one knee, gasping, his earlier panic fading into something much closer to irritation. _Well, they could have aimed for my face, so that's a plus._

"Oh, c'mon, that's just bad for diplomacy," he muttered, coughing. "You guys are a lot stronger than you look." He started to stand, but a hand gripped his hair and yanked his head up, knocking him off-balance. Hunk began to think that he might actually need to fight. _Allura's going to be pissed if I get into a fight with our new allies, but she's also going to be pissed if I don't defend myself and end up dying. There is just no pleasing her…_ Hunk gathered himself, thinking that, if nothing else, he could overpower the guard nearest to him. He eyed the alien, wondering how he could wrestle the rifle away from it without either getting shot or accidentally breaking its arms.

"What's going on here? Unhand the Paladin." A voice spoke from the alleyway behind Hunk. The tone demanded obedience.

Hunk was released almost immediately, and cautiously rose to his feet, keeping his hands visible. The Arziin were bristling, snake-like in their rage. Their teeth were bared, and appeared much sharper than they had before. Hunk risked a glance behind him and saw four Marmora agents in full armor, masks covering their faces.

"He's breaking curfew, and refuses to be escorted to the main square. We cannot allow him to wander through the city." The Arziin addressed the Marmora, hatred flickering over its otherwise lovely face. It hefted its rifle and Hunk felt a frisson of alarm.

"We'll escort him back. Return to your posts." One of the Marmora stepped forward and took Hunk's arm, tugging him into their group until he stood in the center of them. Hunk noted that none of the Marmora spared a glance at the gallows, or at least, not that he could see.

The Arziin didn't like it, but they were outnumbered, and two of the Marmora were even bigger than Hunk. The Arziin closest spat on the ground, one hissed "Galra-scum," and then as a group they turned gracefully and strolled away across the square.

Hunk found himself in what appeared to be a Marmora foot patrol. They didn't speak to him, and having decided after a cursory once-over that he was unharmed, they led him away from the square and deeper into the maze of alleyways. The agents stayed with Hunk until the streets widened. Moonlight bathed the ground, making walking easy despite the uneven cobbles. One by one, the Marmora peeled away from the group, disappearing down alleyways, or simply fading into the shadows. Hunk could see the parade square up ahead, lit with glimmering torches, when the last remaining one pulled Hunk off the street and into a shadowy park.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" The Blade hissed, and Hunk stared at him, puzzled, until Keith removed his mask and glared up at him. "Do you have a fucking death-wish?"

"Keith…" Hunk began, but Keith interrupted.

"What did I tell you about wandering off the parade-route? It would be so easy to make your death look like an accident. They'd just say that a Galra-sympathizer was still in the city, and saw a chance to strike against Voltron, and that would be it." Keith looked like he wanted to shove Hunk for emphasis. He kept his arms tightly against his sides instead, hands clenched into fists.

"We just helped liberate this planet. The new government doesn't want me dead."

"The new government doesn't want to be inconvenienced." Keith whispered angrily. "They're still in the process of consolidating their power. They'd rather you stayed at dinner and not go poking around in the remains of the old government."

"So that's who was…" Hunk gulped. "Hanging there? The pro-Galra faction?"

"What's left of them," Keith sneered.

"So, you put them there," Hunk accused, but Keith shook his head.

"We were on the ground first, and captured any who surrendered. As per our agreement, we delivered them to your new government, alive. That they didn't stay that way says more about the government than the Marmora."

Hunk suddenly felt more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life. He let himself sink to the ground and stretched out his legs, trying to clear his head. Without hesitation, Keith followed him down, kneeling in the grass beside him. A soft breeze flowed through the park, rattling the leaves on the trees like chimes. Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, trying to tamp down his distress. Keith folded his limbs seiza-style, studying Hunk with an attentiveness that he would've found much more intrusive in broad daylight.

"What about the ones who originally approached us?" Hunk asked. "I haven't seen them since then. We knew they weren't pro-Galra: they came to ask for our help. Do you think they became, I dunno, politically unpopular?"

Keith shrugged. "I don't know. I can ask around, if you really want to know that answer."

"It's better to know."

"It won't make any difference. The Coalition is backing this government. We'll finish clearing out the pro-Galra conspirators and then move on to the next planet. We've wasted enough time here already."

"Meaning you'll kill civilians, non-combatants. Fucking hell, Keith. These are people, not Galra soldiers."

"They're not non-combatants if they're trying to kill you. And Galra soldiers are still people, Hunk." Keith's voice had lost its angry tone, and was now just resigned. "And we're not killing anyone, if we can help it."

"But you're delivering them to their deaths, one way or another."

"Voltron did that, the moment you all agreed to liberate this planet." Keith sounded almost apologetic.

Hunk sat quietly for a moment. He leaned back on his hands, staring up into the night sky. The light from the torches and the moon wasn't enough to distract from the stars. They glittered softly in a myriad of unknown constellations. Keith followed his gaze, looking at the sky, and Hunk risked a sidelong glance at him. It was a mistake. He wasn't prepared for the emotions that hit, frightening in their intensity - the mixture of anger and disappointment and, underneath both, desire. _Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

Hunk tried to hide his disquiet by focusing on the stars, but he must have shown something, because he could feel Keith looking at him again. He braced himself and turned to Keith, who'd settled in much closer than necessary. The breeze rustled Keith's hair, and Hunk noted that it was getting longer before firmly putting that thought out of his mind.

"Why didn't you fight them? I saw them hit you," Keith asked, his quiet tone hiding the steel in the question. To Hunk, it sounded more like Keith was declaring his intent to return to the gallows square and murder everyone there. Still, it was a distraction, and he leapt after it.

"I was kind of startled, at first. And then I didn't want to hurt them, or cause a diplomatic incident."

"Those are stupid reasons for not fighting back," Keith said bluntly. "Who cares about diplomacy? There's nothing worth our time on this planet. It's weird that the Galra bothered with it at all. The fact that they did is the only thing that made it interesting." Keith trailed off. "And that's beside the point. You shouldn't worry about hurting people if they've already started hurting you."

"You think rescuing these people from the Galra is a waste of time?" Hunk phrased the statement as a question, but he already knew Keith's answer.

"Not entirely."

"But mostly, you do," Hunk prompted.

Keith frowned. "Yes, because it is. Voltron needs to focus on finding a way to stop Zarkon and Haggar. The Marmora need to track down Lotor and disrupt the Empire's quintessence supply. Instead, Voltron's in a parade on a planet in the absolute middle of nowhere, trying to make friends with a group of aliens who barely have atmospheric-level flight figured out, and-"

"And you're stuck here, watching the parade, making sure no one shoots us while we're sitting ducks in the parade square." Hunk filled in the rest. "I get it."

"Do you?" Keith snapped, then shook his head. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's frustrating."

Keith lifted his hand as though he was going to reach out and touch Hunk, then thought better of it. He glanced over Hunk's shoulder and Hunk turned to follow. Someone was crossing the parade ground, heading in their direction. White paladin armor gleamed in the torchlight, and from the stride Hunk decided it was Lance. It quickly became apparent that Lance hadn't actually spotted them, and was preparing to head down an alleyway.

"It's Lance," Hunk said.

"I know." Keith hefted a nearby rock and threw it. It hit Lance on his hip, and he turned towards them, swearing softly.

"Hey, what's the deal, assholes?" Lance asked cheerfully, stepping off the street and into the park. "Hunk, you made fun of me for wanting to make out with sexy aliens, and now you're here making out with Keith?"

"What!?" Keith and Hunk asked, together. Hunk felt that neither of them had sounded as appalled as they should have been.

"I mean, Keith hardly counts, but still…"

"We weren't making out, jeez." Hunk started to climb to his feet.

"I dunno, kind of looked like Keith was in your lap from a distance." Lance grinned, delighted at the insinuation.

"Keep your fantasies to yourself, Lance." Keith rose gracefully to his feet, only to stagger a few steps as Lance crushed him into a hug.

"Long time no see, buddy," Lance laughed. Keith sputtered, his arms pinned to his sides. "I was gonna pick you up and twirl you around, but…"

"I'll break your arms," Keith growled, and Lance finally released him.

"Nice to see you too. Anyway, Hunk, you've got like ten dobashes to get back to the dinner reception and act like you never left. Pidge sent me to find you. Shiro's already suspicious."

"Why doesn't Shiro know what you're doing?" Keith asked.

"He's busy," Hunk answered, at the same time Lance said, "he's stressed."

"He's always stressed, and busy. That's his job. You should still tell him where you're going. What if we hadn't stopped the guards?" Keith demanded.

"What guards?" Lance asked. "And did you find our guys… or ladies? I honestly couldn't tell but-"

"Never mind," Hunk interrupted Lance, then turned to Keith. "And not all of us are as close to Shiro as you. Especially now, when he's just…"

"Just what?"

"Just… hard to approach, I guess. We don't want to bother him with anything trivial." Hunk explained. Keith raised an eyebrow but didn't respond.

"Okay, we don't have time for you two to stand and stare at each other all night. Hunk, we gotta go." Lance gripped Hunk's arm and tugged him in the direction of the main square. Hunk was too tired to resist. He turned back once, looking for Keith, but the Blade was already gone.

* * *

What are friends for, if not being relentlessly embarrassing? Lance gets it. Anyway, this fic is now discontinued on this site, and further updates are only available on Archive of Our Own. If you're interested, there's already seven more chapters posted there. Thanks for reading!


End file.
